


Storms and Sunshine

by RuddiestBubbles



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character study(sorta), First Kiss, M/M, figuring it out, mentions of OD, moslty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10074296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuddiestBubbles/pseuds/RuddiestBubbles
Summary: Life is about taking chances. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. He’d heard that from his uncle Mario time and time again. He’d heard it the first time he ever stepped on the ice-- and immediately fell. He heard it before his first ever game. He heard it before his final game in the Q. He heard it the day before the draft. And so, he took shots.





	

**Author's Note:**

> um hi...! This is my first ever Check Please fic! So be kind? haha? Enjoy? :D

  
  


His first shot was Parse. Kenny was a storm. Raging and wild, but calm in the best way possible. He was also like the sun. Warm and glowing, but burning if you didn’t keep in the shade. Kenny knew all his secrets, deep and dark, the ones even his parents know. It was maddening, in the best and worst way possible. But he took a shot. It was the stolen moments behind locked doors that kept him sane-- yet tore him apart. It was the fiery words spewed with fire that got under his skin. The words dug deep, seeped into his veins. 

 

So he took his anxiety pills, and the constant itch from the fire stopped, even if only for a while. But Kenny was a storm. And that storm raged. They knew everything about each other, from the anxiety in the pit of his stomach that never stopped nagging, to the way Kenny never had a good relationship with his parents. The words they spewed at each other were venom, and the ones behind locked doors, well, those were fire, so warm, but scorching. 

 

_ Not good enough. _

 

_ That’ll sure make you dad proud, huh? _

 

_ Ha, sure Zimms, you’re not good enough. Too fucked up to care about.  _

 

The words, the fire, the storm that raged, it all became too much. He wasn't good enough. He never would be. The world would become blurry, he’d tug at his hair hoping to ground himself. He sounded like he was underwater. He couldn’t fill his lungs, no matter how many ragged gulps of air he drank. It wasn’t enough. He wasnt enough. He wasn’t ever going to be good enough, wouldn’t live up his father-- those shoes far too big to fill.

 

So he took a shot. One more pill, maybe two, maybe more. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe then the world would stop spinning and he’d resurface. Then he’d lace up, he’d practice and push his still too chubby body as far as it could go. And maybe then he’d rest. And rest he did. One pill too many, and he’d woken in a white room. His dad was staring out the window, skin pale and cheeks a little red. His mother held his hand, her face far more red and still wet with tears. He was a failure. 

 

Kenny called, so many times. But he never answered. Not when he was at the hospital. Not at the rehab center. Not when they moved homes, because his childhood one was too painful to be at. And definitely not when he was accepted at Samwell.

 

Samwell. That was his next shot. His mother had gone there, it was nice school, had a history program. But most importantly, they had hockey. Samwell’s motto is one in four, maybe more. He could be himself here. He could. But he couldn’t. Not when there wasn’t another out NHL player. Sure he wasn’t in the NHL, he’d missed that shot, but the media’s eyes were on him, constantly. Their words were fire too. They criticized his every move from the moment he was born to now. And the fire just kept building. 

 

The first week at Samwell was hell. 

 

_ Uh yes, I am Jack Zimmerman.  _

 

_ Oh hi, hello, I’m Jack. _

 

_ Nice to euh, meet you.  _

 

The social was far too much. Too many new people. Too much unknown. It got under his skin, a constant itch, until it became too much. He’d felt the anxiety boiling in his stomach all day, slowly rising and burning and itching. He’d been on his way back to his single dorm-- he had paid the extra fee without batting an eye-- when he’d heard two other freshman, he’d recognized them as lacrosse players.

 

“Hey look, It’s Zimmerman.” The first of the two had whispered. “Think he’s still snorting cocaine?”

 

“Bet he’s high right now.” The other had snickered back.

 

It was harmless. He’d heard it before. But it was the cherry on the cake. He didn’t even make it to his dorm room before his knees gave out and he’d sunken against the wall. He was underwater; noises muffled, gasping for air. His forehead rested on his knees and his fingers gripped his shaggy hair, pulling it hard. It wasn’t grounding, but nothing was. 

 

_ Hey man. It’s okay. In one two three, out one two three. In one two three, out one two three.  _

 

And that was Shitty, his next shot. Shitty was an odd one, with his mustache and his flow, his rants of heteronormativity and consent. Shitty was an extrovert, and he clung to him like a shirt to skin in the rain. Shitty was also a storm, but not thunderous like Kenny. No, Shitty was the soft calming rain on a lazy sunday. He was the kind of rainstorm that let sun peek through the clouds and brighten the soft grey overcast. Shitty’s words weren't fire; they were water that dulled the itch and put out the fire that was constantly building in him.

 

He was hesitant at first. But Shitty wasn’t Kenny. He wasn’t a thunderstorm, he was rain. Shitty never actually said so, but he’d basically adopted Jack from that first moment in the hallway when he was drowning in his anxiety. 

 

Then there was Ransom, Holster, and Lardo. They were another shot-- or shots. They were loud, full of energy and life. Ransom and Holster were attached at the hip, best bros and best d-men pair the hockey world had ever seen. They were also a storm. Not a thunderstorm like Kenny, not a calming rain like Shitty, but a windstorm, strong and energetic, bringing a cool to his heat. 

 

Lardo was different. She wasn’t a storm, no, she was the eye of the storm. A perfect calm no matter the shit storm around her. She was quiet, small, calm. But she could boss around a huge group of jocks like it was nothing. They would sit together at Jerry’s and a study, sharing a pot of coffee. They didn’t need to talk, and that was the good thing about her. Calm.

 

They were the best shots he’d taken. Samwell was. He had Shitty, who claimed the spot as his best friend without really consulting Jack first. Then there was Lardo. The calm in the storm. Then Ransom and Holster, the crazy insane whirlwind of a duo, who were obnoxious without being an itch under his skin. 

 

There was also Johnson, but he had never been close to him. He was strange, stranger than Shitty.

 

He wasn’t perfect, no, but Samwell was starting to feel like home. They hadn’t won the frozen four, but that was okay. Actually it wasn’t, but Shitty helped make it okay. He had a room in the house and Shitty was right next door to him and he had all he needed. His rise to reclaim his Hockey crown was slow going, but he was getting there.

 

Well, he was, until  **Bittle** came along. 

 

Bittle-- he refused to call him Bitty or Bits-- was not a shot he was going to take. And he didn’t. He was small, scared, and couldn’t take a hit. He hated to admit it-- and most definitely didn’t because Shitty would rant his ears off-- but Bittle screamed gay, practically radiated it. From his too short short and bright tank tops, to constant baking, to his love for beyonce. He wasn’t surprised when Bittle came out to them.

 

But that’s als what became a constant itch under his skin, a fire building in him. Bittle was out and so fully himself. It infuriated Jack. No, Jack knew he couldn’t be out, there was just no way, but just how easy Bittle seemed to dance about and bake and sing and just be himself made him jealous in the worst way possible.

 

It’s not like he meant to be a total dick. Not at all. But he gets in these modes, like a robot. Shitty was truly a genius at explaining and getting it into Jack’s head that he is in the wrong. And Jack listened. It was getting better. The checking clinics, the long philosophical talks with Johnson at two in the morning when he couldn’t sleep, even being with Camilla helped. He was actually becoming friends with Bittle. He wasn’t a total dick. And then the check happened. He’d been on the ice, he’d managed to score on a risky play. He didn’t even get to celly, no, not when Bittle went flying from a hip check. He heard Bittle’s head hit the ice and bounce of the helmet. 

 

_ Bitty _

 

He vowed to himself then that he’d make it up to Bittle, for being the total dick he was. Their friendship was rocky, but it was there and slowly getting better. Over the summer he’d had plenty of time to think it through. And when he came back, it was actually nice. 

 

Bittle wasn’t a storm. No, he was sunshine. He hadn’t understood what took so long to realise that. Maybe it was the class they took together, or the fact that he only passed the class with Bittle’s help, or maybe it was the way the sun shined on his hair in the kitchen-- a perfect golden halo. He was definitely opening up, unlike he did with everyone else-- that had taken time-- but with Bittle, it was almost effortless. 

 

Then the storm was raging again. Of fucking course Kenny had to be there. That was one of the only shots he’d regretted taking. Kenny was a storm, thunderous, yet calm in the worst way possible. 

 

_ What about Vegas? _

 

**I-I don’t know, okay?**

 

Of course the calm was the gentle drag of lips, and he’d kissed back. But not before everything came crashing down around him. 

 

**Kenny… I can’t do this…**

 

_ Jack, come on. I can tell the GM’s you’re on board and they can clear cap space. Then you can be done with this shitty school.  _

 

**Get out.**

 

_...Jack _

 

**You can’t-- you don’t come to my fucking school unannounced...**

 

_...Because you shut me out _

 

**And corner me in my room…**

 

_ I’m trying to help… _

 

**And expect me to do whatever you want…**

 

_ Fuck-- Jack!! What do you want me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, ok? ….. I miss you _

 

**...You always say that.**

 

_ …. Huh, well shit. Okay…. You know what Zimmerman? You think you’re too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough? Everyone already knows what you are, but it’s people like me who still care. _

 

**\--Shutup**

 

_ You’re scared everyone is gonna find out you’re worthless, right? Oh, don’t worry, just give it a few seasons, Jack. Trust me. _

 

**….G-get out of my room.**

 

_ Fine, shut me out again. _

 

**And stay-stay away from my team.**

 

_ Why, afraid i’ll tell them something? _

 

**Leave, Parse…**

 

_ Hey. Well. Call me if you reconsider or whatever. But good luck with the Falconers…. I'm sure that’ll make your dad proud. _

 

Bittle had been there, in the hallway. He’d heard the storm that is Kenny. He heard the way Kenny could get under his skin and leave an itch that’d never leave. Jack didn’t know what, or how much Bittle had heard, but nothing was really registering at that point. He was underwater and draining from the storm that had ragged upon him. 

 

Kenny was truly a storm. Raging, but calm in the best and worst way possible. 

 

Break was next. He went home to Montreal and he saw his mom and dad. HIs dad never missed a chance to tell Jack he loved him and he was proud. It helped, but not enough. What really helped was the little bag of cookies and the little note Bittle had somehow slipped into his bag. But that was just Bittle, he did these things on a whim, took care of the team. Bittle mothered the shit out of them in the best way possible, especially the new frogs. He wasn’t really close with the frogs, but Chowder was an amazing goalie. He was also a whirlwind, much like Ransom and Holster. 

 

Dex and Nursey were different. Separately they were a sandstorm and a calming rain-- though no where like Shitty-- respectively. But together, they were a tornado. Hot and cold winds clashing until it was dangerous enough to destroy. But they never did. They were a funnel that never touched down.

 

He did finally get around to taking that photography class. There had been much trial and tribulation, but he’d finally decided on a team. The Falconers. They were going to give him good ice time, maybe not the most zeros he’d seen, but they were close-- though he couldn’t figure out why that had mattered so much, not then at least-- and Georgia made sure he knew the Falconers were accepting. It’s almost like she knew then and there. It’s not like he actually said anything, because he didn’t, but it’s almost like he had. He instantly liked Georgia. 

 

Shitty got accepted into Harvard. That really made graduation seem all the more closer, so much more real than the simple idea it had been before. They didn’t win the frozen four. But, there had been a spark to the team that hadn’t been there before. There was a spark in Jack that hadn’t been there before-- but he didn’t know what it was.

 

His final project for his photo class was great-- at least he thought. His professor had said that his project portrayed light, a happiness only known by true friends-- family. He looked through the pictures again, with shaking hands. They were Bittle. Almost all Bittle. Bittle in the kitchen, flour in his hair, chocolate frosting streaked across his face. Bittle in the sun, laughing. Bittle on Holster’s shoulders. Bittle shoved in a hockey bag, smiling, eyes crinkled around the edges. The most incriminating; Bittle, in the kitchen, the golden light of the sun haloing his perfect golden hair and sunkissed skin and freckles that splattered his face. It was all Bittle. And that made his hands shake and his mind race, run itself in circles. 

 

He tried not to dwell on it, but it bugged him constantly; an itch under his skin that just wouldn’t go away. 

 

Then, after walking across stage with his diploma and saying goodbye to so many people, he was face to face with Bittle. Bittle looked sad, glassy eyes and a fake smile. He straightened Jack’s tie-- which Bittle himself had picked out early that day. He had that look, the one where you need to say something, but you just can’t. It’s one Jack knew all too well. 

 

Like when he couldn’t tell his parents he needed help. Or when he couldn’t tell Kenny no.

 

And now, Bittle, he couldn’t seem to say what he wanted. So Bittle hugged him and wandered off, fist clenched and shaking and tears slowly slipping down his face. And Jack couldn’t figure out why his heart clenched at that. 

 

It wasn’t until he found his father waiting for him, all smiles and proud brown eyes. 

 

**I just uh… I feel like I haven't really said goodbye to everyone.**

 

_ Well, it’s a bit too late to take another lap around the rink! _

 

**No… Not that…**

 

_ Ah. You what your uncle says, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. _

 

It all suddenly made so much sense. Bittle. Bitty. BIts. The golden light that chased away the storm. Bittle was light, he was what lit the fire in Jack, but not the one like Kenny. No one was like Kenny-- and Bittle wasn’t even close. So he ran. 

 

_ I never took a shot _

 

And it was true. He never took a shot on Bittle, because Bittle with his light and his music and baking and figure skating and openness scared him-- scared him enough to be an asshole; he’ll never truly forgive himself. Bittle was his photo final because it’s all he wanted. And he was about to miss his shot. So he ran, and he ran hard. Why was the Haus all the way across campus? Why couldn’t he run faster? He never felt like he’d needed something this bad before. Not with Kenny-- never with Kenny. 

 

He thought he’d missed his shot, but Bittle was there, crying and attempting to sing. He looked broken, but he was there. He couldn’t talk, not when his mouth ran dry and his knees went weak, just from seeing Bittle. 

 

_ Bitty _

 

He kissed him. It was slow, hesitant. He pulled back just long enough to see Bittle’s face, to see that this was actually happening, that Bittle was actually there and kissing him back. And he kissed him again, his hand hovering near his chin, a light touch of fingers to soft skin, because he thought if he even touched him, it would break the spell and he’d be in his truck, on his way to Providence with his dad, mom, and Georgia. But no, this was real. He could have this. It’s all he’s ever wanted-- even if he never realized it. He pulled back and saw Bittle, his head haloed in golden light from the sun that finally peaked out from the gray clouds.

 

Bitty wasn’t a storm, no,  Bitty was sunshine. The sunshine that parted the clouds and chased away the storms.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> criticism(of the constructive type) would be great! Or feed back in general ^.^


End file.
